~My selfish retreat, a fraction of tranquillity in a world of chaos~

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People come and go and giving up and letting them be is something she never saw herself doing.
She was always one to hold on to that tiny particle of hope no matter how small..
All that had changed for her. She began to see the more that life had to offer and the amount of wasted time she was spending hoping for something or someone who was so unwilling to give anything back.
And so she finally made a decision, a resolve to let it all be. She had finally stopped trying, stopped wishing and stopped making the effort she was so used. And she realised she had never felt more alive..

In the dead silent of the night, her recollections created a web of frayed images inside her head and words poured out of her effortlessly. The stillness and loneliness of the darkness engulfed her within its vastness, wrapping itself around her in a mercilessly tight grip.

Her thoughts soared and receded unwilling to settle at a comfortable hum inside her head. Her mind clouded over and she felt himself drown, lost within the suffocating sweetness of the moment. Throughout it all one steady noise reverberated across her ears. The thud of her agitated heart as it continued to steadily beat to its own rhythm never once failing her.

His words washed over her, wrapping themselves around her like a cloak while at the same time cutting a gaping hole through her very core. She gathered her arms around her and breathed in. The power of his words was relentless and she could do nothing but yield to them, captivated and mesmerised by their force. Continue reading →

A thousand thoughts are born, some sustaining the long night while others seem to diminish as abruptly as they are created. Succumbing to a nothingness, they vaporize into oblivion like the smoke from the wick of a blown out candle as it vanishes into thin air. Continue reading →

When he wrote words seemed to flow out of him in a never-ending sequence,one followed by another in perfect succession. He created a masterpiece giving life to the secrets buried deep within his soul. Like the magic of music flowing from a flute they too created within me a whirl of mind numbing emotions.I was lost within the moment, captivated by the power of the sentences spread across the paper unable to move as images were conjured up before my eyes. Continue reading →

Before I begin to even write to you, beads of perspiration line my brow from the nervousness of this task. Focusing too much on myself has always made me so very self-conscious. Writing, and then and seeing it so plainly before me brings on a feeling of utter nakedness. I feel exposed and open to the world and usually do anything to avoid it.Yet today I will plough ahead in my bravery. The year 2012 has just ended and brings with it promises of 365 days which have yet to be written. Filling the pages of my empty book is where I begin, for today I wish to vent…

This really got me thinking.. (Source: Instagram)

I sit here amidst the slush of slowly melting ice, the laughter of joyous children, their gleeful shouts and cries and their smiles; beautiful enough to melt a heart of stone. I sit here alone, silent and still as I watch the busy parents tend to their handful of children running around trying to keep their hats and gloves from falling.I watch young couples so in love, their eyes brimming from the promises of many more happy days to come and I watch the old and fading,their eyes holding stories of lifetimes long gone, moments spent so contentedly; a smile of fulfilment on their fragile faces as they too occupy one of the many park benches surrounding me.
I realise how much I love to listen to the sounds of human voices, their excited chatter intermingled and entwined, fading away into the distance..
As I sit here, I cannot help but wonder at my own troubled thoughts and emotions; raging and raw. A burdened soul, cowering under the load of its weight. Those memories which were carefree moments thought so little of once upon a time, have never failed to haunt me. The voices and faces which have been so frequently conjured up in my memory, have long since become one big tangled web of images, completely indistinguishable from one another.
It feels as though I have become trapped inside a bubble, frozen somewhere in between the past, the present and the future. An immobile being, going through the motions like the minute hand needle of a clock. The thought of what might be, has led to a state of constant fear. Fear of making the wrong choices, fear of having my trust broken and shattered to pieces yet again. Fear of becoming too dependent,fear of loss, fear of desertion, fear of having my life turned into an example of everything bad that could happen, fear of being traumatized, fear of being neglected, fear of missing out and fear of failure.
Putting it all into words so blatantly before myself has left me with a sense of relief and euphoria.

Writing has helped me put my life into perspective and I’ve understood what a true blessing it is.
I have been led to a mounting realization of how unpredictable life actually is.Growing up, what we fail to realize is how lucky we are to have people who love us continuously by our side. Friends that support us and cherish us, forever there at every beck and call, so willing to listen.
2013 comes amidst the fear-for some-of the world ending.Raging wars in the middle east, natural disasters in the west, holes in the ozone in the north and calamities in the south. Inclusive of this is every bit of torture we choose to inflict upon our own kind with civil wars, drone attacks, target shootings, rape, murder, hatred and general evil acts. If the very world we live in cannot be in a state of peace, maybe its time we start focusing on our own little bit.
Maybe living in a perfect world is impossible. But waking up everyday, being so blessed and much much luckier than most is enough to put a smile on my face. I may have bad days, but at least I don’t have a bad life. And so acknowledging my fears is where I must begin.Maybe its time to face my own demons. Maybe its time to fix those broken friendships which began so slowly yet ended too soon. Maybe its time to be true to myself and not hold back.Maybe its time to grow up a little.Maybe its time to forgive…

And so dear diary, I end this note with a light heart, an encouraged spirit and a smile on my lips. For now, I feel the world is mine and I’m determined to face it. Ready for all it has to offer me. Till next time. With much love..

Forever yours, Nadia

I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe Dalai Lama(Location:UK)

I have a friend who thinks I’m a complete crack pot for filling up pages upon pages of random blog posts. He along with many others, doesn’t get the point of why my blog has me so hitched that at times I think it has permanently taken up residence in a part of my brain, screaming to be given due thought and attention.

But blogging aside, what I don’t understand is his, along with many other of my friend’s point blank refusal to read not only my blog, but any form of literature. After much observation I have come to the conclusion that there are basically two types of people in this world. Us normal mortals, who can’t go a day without some form of literally context passing under our noses, and the “abnormal” ones who would rather sit and die of boredom than even touch a book.

Both these categories of people fail to understand one another. The so-called book worms don’t get how people can overlook all that treasure, hungrily waiting to be read and absorbed-I for one, consider it one of the best past times. It’s almost like you’re inside a complete different world, somewhat of an escape. Despite that I also don’t agree with completely burying oneself inside one’s books and becoming a complete nerd, making you socially inept and incapable of distinguishing between reality and fantasy-And then there is that second category of people, who idle away their talent over useless pastimes, never going near a book for fear of catching some fatal disease. At times like that I always remember that quote by Marcus Tullius Cicero

“To each his own”

I have always wondered what brings on that complete love for reading. Maybe it’s something in the genes that has to be inherited, or maybe it’s just something which is developed over time. But there’s one thing for certain, reading is like a cigarette. You either love it or hate it, and once addicted it’s often hard to let go.